Standing, Look To The End
by Sakuri
Summary: Post-Hogwarts. No one was more surprised than Draco by his eventual profession as a successful Mind-Healer, but when Harry Potter becomes his latest high-profile patient, he finally has the shot at glory and revenge he's been waiting for. Discontinued.
1. Chapter 1

**Sakuri: **Wow, my second HP fic. Uhm yeah, still continuing 'Secret's In The Telling', in case you're worried, I just felt like a change.

Okay, a few notes on this story. Well, first of all, I've only used bits of Books Six and Seven, conveniently merged with my own version of what happened towards the end of Hogwarts. Don't worry, it'll all be explained as we go along. Also, it pretty much ignores the DH epilogue completely.

Anyway yeah, enjoy.

**Title:** Standing, Look To The End

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: Post-Hogwarts. No one was more surprised than Draco by his eventual profession as a successful Mind-Healer, but when Harry Potter becomes his latest high-profile patient, he finally has the shot at glory and revenge he's been waiting for. But is he in for more than he ever expected...? HPDM

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 1**: People In High Places

---

The year Draco left Hogwarts had not been a good one. For the rest of the wizarding world, it had been the cause for celebration that lasted almost another year, but for him...

The Boy Who Lived had lived to take down the Dark Lord at the end of his seventh school year, and had shot to a height of fame and adoration only associated with the late Headmaster Dumbledore and maybe even Merlin himself. The Prophet had been plastered with his picture almost front to cover, and the Minister – at that time, anyway – had been shouting his praises from the rooftops. The world had been aglow with love and light and victory, and Draco's life, unnoticed by the saviours surrounding him, was shattered.

Lucius had barely lasted five minutes when the war began in earnest at the very end of sixth year. His father, a wizard he'd spent the majority of his life in awe of, a man who'd become to him the epitome of Slytherin strength, had fallen without a fight, caught with a Killing Curse to the back, cast during a lucky Auror raid on a Death Eater meeting.

Even now, Draco found it difficult to believe that Lucius Malfoy had been snuffed out with so little effort. It should have taken more, surely, than some hastily recruited first-year Auror to take down the powerful man that had been his father. It was an insult, really.

Afterwards, the power of the Malfoy properties and vaults had gone to him. By then, luckily, he'd already turned seventeen and, since he had no _official _criminal record, had been eligible to receive the inheritance – after, of course, the Ministry had deducted suitable reparation payments for Lucius's crimes.

His mother, in the wake of her husband's death, had broken. Shattered. She'd denied totally that Lucius was gone, clinging to hope in a way Draco had found sickening to watch. He'd been terrified that the world, still holding on to its resentment of his family, would learn of her sudden weakness. Not only would it have destroyed what little remained of the Malfoy reputation – something that he simply couldn't have afforded, at the time – he'd also feared that, if the Prophet caught wind of her condition, she'd become a target to anyone bearing a grudge. Back then, vigilante justice was more of a problem than the Ministry had liked to admit.

With no other choice, he'd used a large portion of the dwindling Malfoy wealth and sent her away to France, safe in obscurity and the care of a private mediwitch. The public had drawn their own conclusions, deciding that Narcissa Malfoy simply hadn't been able to take the defeat she'd seen coming, and fled the country in fear, leaving her son to fend for himself.

Draco had allowed the rumours – still allowed them – since he found them preferable to the truth.

And so, with both his parents – his immortal parents – fallen, and him the only one left standing, he'd struggled under the weight of so much sudden responsibility. That time, in his memory, was a whirl of paperwork and contracts, panic and loneliness, and the overwhelming sensation of being in over his head. The Ministry had seized the Manor in an iron grip, making sure that nothing occurred within its walls that they hadn't sanctioned. If Draco so much as moved a paper weight, they'd known about it. So it had seemed, anyway.

His one-time fortune had declined even further as Scrimgoer sought to cripple him completely, inventing countless bogus fines that chipped away at his bank accounts. The Minister had been sick of Malfoy intervention in his politics, and had apparently taken it into his head to put an end to the matter. The sole reason he hadn't confiscated the Manor out from under Draco was because of the ancient pureblood wards that were keyed only to the Malfoy heir, and made it impossible for unwelcome individuals to enter or own the property.

Draco had forced himself through it all. He'd forced himself to swallow his pride but maintain his dignity every time he was interrogated by prejudiced Aurors. Forced himself to hold on to what was left of his money, even when he was so exhausted he wanted nothing more than to scream that he was only _seventeen_, for God's sake, and shouldn't there be someone to help him?! Forced himself not to follow in his mother's footsteps; not to break.

And then the real fighting had begun, and the problem of his continued existence had ceased mattering to the Minister, for a little while.

Potter and his friends had disappeared from the face of the Earth just before seventh year had begun, sending Scrimgoer and the Ministry into fits of panic that verged on hysteria. Draco remembered it well; he'd snatched the opportunity it presented to gather himself somewhat and decide which side he would choose once and for all.

To imitate his father would have been a mistake; he'd known that immediately. The Ministry would have destroyed him instantly if he'd displayed so much as a _tendency_ towards the Dark Arts. As it was, they'd only left him alone because he'd become so unimportant.

But the thought of joining the Light...

Draco had known since about third year, when Granger had swung for him, that he was a coward. It wasn't something he liked about himself, but he acknowledged it. He was not a fighter, would never be one – further proven by his disastrous attempt to obey his father and kill Dumbledore. It had been up to Severus to rescue him then, sweeping him away from Hogwarts and the Aurors, who had never learned of his presence and intent that night.

But, if nothing else, the incident had proved to him that he would never be of any use in real battle. Yes, he was a good wizard – well above average, in fact, especially when it came to aspects such as creativity and the theoretical side of magic – but it was putting it all into practice that presented the problem.

This in mind, he knew he could never participate in the practical side of things, whichever side he worked for. Still, the side of the Light had more job opportunities for cowards.

Seventh year went by in a blur of depression for him. Occasionally, he would write to his mother, but had never received a coherent response, and so eventually gave up altogether. He'd stopped associating with his former friends, who were all well on their way to becoming the next generation of Death Eaters. Afraid that the Ministry would use anything they could to get at him, he hadn't been willing to take the risk. Lucius had always taught him that loyalty to the family came first – but with his entire family having disappeared, loyalty to himself was the next best thing. And so he'd withdrawn entirely, becoming more introspective than ever before. With Potter gone, there'd been no point in maintaining his previous reputation anyway; no one else had been worth the effort of starting arguments in the corridors, or any of the other childish plots and plans he'd invested so much energy into over the years.

His schoolwork had been a refuge. He'd buried himself in books and essays, spent classes listening attentively and making fastidious notes he would reread in the evenings. His grades had shot up amazingly, to the surprise of most of his Professors. At that time, he'd almost regretted Granger's absence, since he was sure he would have finally beaten her in their academic competition. Each half-term holiday he'd been granted permission to return to the Manor and check everything there was still running smoothly, but other than that he rarely left the sanctuary of the castle, avoiding even the school grounds when he could.

It was just a month before the final battle at Hogwarts when he'd received the letter informing him of his mother's death. The mediwitch he paid to look after her accredited it to the fact that she hadn't been eating for some time, hiding her meals rather than consume them, and in the end had simply succumb to the wasting exhaustion that such behaviour inevitably led to. Draco had thought, despondently, about taking the anger he'd felt out on the mediwitch – after all, wasn't it her job to _make sure _his mother had been eating healthily? – but eventually he'd decided against it. Whatever the medical report had said, Draco knew the truth. Narcissa Malfoy had died of grief, and there was nothing to be done for that.

He hadn't felt the same overpowering sense of bereavement as he had when Lucius was killed. Later, he understood that he'd already accepted his mother's loss when he'd moved her to France, as surely as if she'd been dead already. So the news meant much less to him than he'd always imagined. Merely a few more papers to sign, a funeral to arrange, a date to remember once a year, and the rest of the world remained oblivious. His life, mercilessly, went on.

When the final battle took Hogwarts, he hadn't taken part. Once again, his cowardice had surged to the fore, and he'd found himself all but frozen, paralysed, as the two sides clashed around him. He'd helped neither, busy concentrating on saving his own life, moving through the school like a shadow. Only once had he drawn notice; that of a Death Eater who'd recognised him and, having come to see him as a traitor in that last year, tried to kill him.

It had been Potter who saved him. _Potter_. The Saviour himself had witnessed his weakness, his hesitancy, his _fear_, and had had the audacity to play hero, just as he always did. At least Weasley had acted halfway normal, leaving him with a black eye before disappearing into the fray. It was twisted, that he'd been grateful for that.

And when it was all over, and he'd stood alone in the Great Hall with everyone else who'd survived, watching their tears of grief and joy, their reunions with friends and family, the beginning of their golden age, he'd closed his eyes and sunk onto a nearby bench, head in his hands. That was the moment when real life – life that didn't just consist of struggling with the debts his parents had left him, and hiding away in the depths of the castle – that was when it had begun. Alone but standing, he'd determined to meet it, while all the weaknesses, the shames, they would remain in the past, locked in his memory where no one else could ever access them.

And so he had.

---

Draco tapped his wand impatiently against his leg as he waited for the elevator to reach its destination of the third floor corridor. When the doors finally slid open with a ping, he stepped off amid a flurry of memos similar to those used in the Ministry and started forward with the trademark confidence he'd regained since his days at Hogwarts. He enjoyed the way the nurses and mediwitches dropped their eyes as he passed, often falling silent midsentence. No, he was not well-liked, but then he'd never hoped to be. Fear was better. Fear was power, as his father used to say.

Robes flaring behind him with his fast pace, he swept through the main ward of the floor, not bothering to glance at the patients and their visitors, heading into the offices that were concealed from public view. He knew that paperwork would be piling up on his desk after his weekend of freedom, and intended to get an early start on the tedious work.

Entering the behind-the-scenes section of the hospital, he passed the young secretary recently hired – the Patils' younger cousin, if he recalled correctly – and paused to check if he'd received any messages during his absence.

She dithered for a moment, hurriedly scrambling through a stack of scrawled notes on her desk, before handing him a rather tattered memo. "Uhm, yes, she called yesterday. Said it was important –"

"Hn." With the absent minded acknowledgment, he walked past her towards his own office. Awkwardly, he tried to manoeuvre the thick folder of case studies he carried under one arm while manipulating his wand to perform the motions of an unlocking charm directed at the door ahead of him, all without dropping the unread scrap of paper the secretary had just handed him.

An audible click told him he'd succeeded, and he pocketed the length of wood to reach out for the door handle instead.

"Here. Let me get that."

Surprised, he turned towards the owner of the feminine voice who had obviously been seated in the little waiting area – and very nearly dropped his folder. With difficulty, he controlled all outward reactions for the few seconds it took him to rein in his shock, and so, as a result, merely stared wordlessly as Hermione Granger helpfully held open his own door for him.

Still without saying anything, he glanced down at the memo he held and, sure enough, scribbled in untidy handwriting, were the words: _Mrs Weasley to see you first thing Monday morning. __Urgent_

Well, it had to be, didn't it? In fact, he was almost sure that nothing short of the apocalypse would bring Granger – ahem, sorry, _Weasley_ – to his door, and speaking in such a civil tone, forced as it was.

Perplexed, he raised his eyes to her again, not bothering to hide his cautious expression.

She looked back steadily with eyes that were almost pleading – but that couldn't be right, could it? "It's important, Malfoy."

He blinked, not quite moved to concern by the gravity of her voice, but certainly interested. Finally, with a slight shake of his head, he strode past her haughtily. "Fine. Get in here, Granger. It should be good to start the week with a laugh."

---

Draco Malfoy, Hermione thought as she took a seat opposite him, had not changed at all since Hogwarts. And with that revelation, she came close to leaving right then and there, without another word exchanged.

But no, she reminded herself. This was _important_, and surely there had to be some kind of reason that Malfoy had become so successful in the last few years. He was good at his job. Brilliant, if the rumours held true.

But really, she could practically _hear _the word 'mudblood' spinning around his head as he stared at her coldly from across the desk. How could someone so... so like _Malfoy _have ever become a Healer?! It defied all logic. The man in front of her showed all the signs of being the intolerant, self-centred, vindictive little git she'd always known and loathed. There was no way – no possible way – that the one-time Slytherin had learned empathy. Just looking at him, she knew it to be impossible. From the sneer he wore even now, to the way the other workers at St Mungo's had spoken of him, she knew with dead certainty that he was still an incurable bastard.

But that _reputation_...

Never let it be said that Hermione Weasley believed everything she heard. Even as talk of Malfoy's work as a ground-breaking Mind-Healer spread, with help from the Prophet's reports, she'd remained sceptical. And so, using one or two of her Ministry contacts, it hadn't been hard to find his personal files – and sure enough, there in black and white, she'd been able to read his professional history at her leisure, and had found it to be as impressive as the rumours whispered. Not only had he graduated Hogwarts with marks she wouldn't have thought him capable of, he'd almost immediately begun his apprenticeship at the wizarding hospital, and by twenty had been pronounced a qualified Healer. From there, he'd started his rise through the ranks until he'd achieved his current position: perhaps the most coveted – and certainly the most expensive – Healer in England.

In desperation, and having failed to find any flaws in the Slytherin's remarkable history, she'd finally found herself making the appointment for today, and hoping against hope that Malfoy had somehow managed a personality transplant.

Apparently not.

"So come on, Granger, what's this about? Some of us have work to be getting on with..."

She sighed. Oh, this was not going to be easy. Clearing her throat, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to stop them fidgeting, and regarded the blonde before her intently. "Harry's in trouble," she admitted in a rush, biting her lip.

Malfoy only looked amused, idly tucking a stray bang of hair behind one ear. "When isn't he? I can't remember picking up the Prophet since he joined the Aurors without having to read about the latest, greatest adventures of St Potter." Unimpressed, he busied himself glancing over the papers laid out before him, wondering how long it would take to go over them and hoping that secretary – what _was _her name? – would bring him coffee some time soon.

"This is different," she went on, missing or ignoring his disinterest. Unprompted, she launched into the story that had brought her here. "It's been happening for about a month now, but we didn't really think anything of it until recently. Harry's always had these moods where he just goes into himself... you know?"

"I assure you, I don't."

"But lately he's been downright antisocial. Starting arguments with everyone for no reason! He made _another _partner refuse to work with him the other week."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "The papers aren't reporting _that_."

Hermione shifted a little. "Well, they haven't caught wind of it yet. We've been trying to keep it quiet. Harry gets enough bad press –"

A cynical snort met that statement. "Are you kidding? Potter's been the Prophet's little darling for years, and that's unlikely to change any time soon."

She glared. "Well, alright, he _used _to get bad press. And stop interrupting!"

The blond made a show of looking at the watch he'd taken to wearing, obviously hinting that he had better things to be doing than hear about the temper tantrums of a spoilt idol. Merlin knew he dealt with enough diva-complexes with his usual clients.

"I'll stop interrupting if you come to the point. I meant it when I said I have work to do."

She took a deep breath before answering. "Harry was suspended last week for falling apart on the job. He used magic in full view of muggles – _excessive _magic, at that. I saw the street they'd been in at the time... They had to Obliviate the whole place." She shook her head in confused despair at the memory, before going on. "He nearly killed the wizard he was chasing down, and even hurt the Auror who was working with him at the time."

Despite himself, Draco found himself leaning forward. "We're still talking about Potter here? His temper was never that bad, surely..."

"Exactly! The Minister was furious. If it was anyone else, they'd have been fired by now. As it is, he's ordered him into therapy until he sorts himself out."

"Wait. If you're here for the reason I think you're here, you should know, Granger, I'm not a therapist. I'm a –"

She waved away his protest. "A Mind-Healer, I know. And, yes, I know the difference. Harry's getting therapy elsewhere, for the moment. But I want you to look at him, too. Just in case..."

He frowned. "In case what, Granger? You think he's really going off the rails? That _is _what I deal with, you know. People who are in much deeper trouble than overworked Aurors who need to cry over what their mothers did to them."

"It's not that I think he's 'going off the rails', as you so elegantly put it. I just..." She trailed off helplessly, shrugging. "It's just so out of character!"

"Hmm," Draco muttered in agreement, thinking it over as he leaned back in his chair. "What makes you think Potter would even agree to come see me?"

She looked down for a moment, before her resolve visibly hardened. "He doesn't have a choice. When he joined the Aurors, he signed over medical decisions to me, if he were ever unable to make them himself or in an... an unfit state of mind. This counts as the latter."

The Slytherin let a smirk pass over his features. "How interesting..." he murmured, almost to himself. Yes, though he would like to have denied it, he was growing more and more intrigued by the second. "I assume you're aware my fee is somewhat steeper than the... _average_ Healer."

She nodded. "You just better be worth it. Does this mean you'll take him as a patient?"

"I'm thinking about it," he admitted, beginning to tap his fingertips on the surface of his desk. That was a lie, he knew privately. Draco had made up his mind upon hearing the description of Potter's little break down. In truth, he hadn't even considered refusal. There was no way he could let this opportunity slip by. Finally, a chance to be truly superior to the holier than thou bloody Saviour, and maybe even the possibility of freeing himself from the unwanted life-debt he owed the other man.

He was already planning out his first session as he watched Granger squirm, waiting for his response. Knowing Potter as he did, he wondered what tactics would be best to start out with, and if he could get away with throwing in a few taunts – just for old times' sake.

Nervous, she kept talking. "And of course, this is all confidential. It's been hell keeping this from the papers, so you better not ruin it now."

"I'll have you know my conduct is entirely professional," he retorted, a little offended. "I'm sworn to keep secret anything he tells me from now on, so don't imply otherwise."

She looked sheepish for a moment, before the import of his words hit her. "That's a yes, then?"

The blonde pulled out a book from his top drawer and began flipping through its pages, eventually stopping at a point which he examined with narrowed eyes. "Have him here this Wednesday at three. And do _try _to be punctual."

She rolled her eyes at his little jibe, but he didn't miss the relief that had entered her countenance as she rose from her chair. He scowled. As childish as it was, he didn't like being the cause of Granger's good mood.

"Now get out. I actually have things of more importance to be doing, believe it or not."

She glared and turned on her heel.

There. Much better.


	2. Masks

**Sakuri: **Sorry it took sooooooo long to update! I thought it was best to finish 'Secrets' before carrying on this project, and then I got sidetracked by my original stories. Again.

Anyway, hope this is worth the wait.

**Title:** Standing, Look To The End

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: Post-Hogwarts. No one was more surprised than Draco by his eventual profession as a successful Mind-Healer, but when Harry Potter becomes his latest high-profile patient, he finally has the shot at glory and revenge he's been waiting for. But is he in for more than he ever expected...? HPDM

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 2**: Masks

--

Within the day, Draco began his research. Of course, he first had to take care of his existing patients – such as Mrs Green, with her exasperating identity crisis, whom he'd only taken on because she'd offered to pay double his fee; or his fear of abandonment group, whom he'd cancelled on twice this month and couldn't very well do so again, since they were starting to relapse – before he had the chance to sit down and start to investigate Potter's case.

As Granger had said, there was no mention of anything unusual in any of the news reports he dug up. Convenient for Potter, but it made _his _job more difficult. He liked to know in advance what he would be dealing with, and the witch's quick account of Potter's breakdown was simply not enough information.

After lunch, which consisted of an apple, a chocolate bar and a cup of coffee – perfectly balanced meal, in his opinion – he set about looking into the Gryffindor's history in more detail than he'd ever felt the need to before now.

After the defeat of the Dark Lord, Potter, along with Granger and Weasley and any other of his faithful followers who'd missed school, had repeated a year at Hogwarts and graduated twelve months after Draco. And then, in accordance with all expectations he'd ever had for the Gryffindor, Potter had gone straight into the Auror training program, hand in hand with Weasley, while Granger had gone to work at the Ministry in some obscure Department that dealt with equal rights for magical creatures. He should have seen that one coming, really, after the House Elf debacle back at school...

Potter didn't have a mark on his record; that was the first thing that jumped out at Draco. In one way, it was unsurprising, considering he was the Golden Boy of their time. But hadn't the Gryffindor always had that penchant for flaunting rules? Surely he hadn't outgrown it. No, in all likelihood, the Minister was simply willing to overlook any minor transgressions in return for the loyalty of _the _Harry Potter.

Even outside of his job, Draco had never heard of anything untoward in the other man's life – and surely, if there'd been anything, the Prophet would have jumped on it. As far as he knew, Potter was happily engaged to girl-Weasley and was planning a life of marital bliss, complete with red-haired, freckle-ridden, bespectacled little brats of his own. The Gryffindor's idea of heaven, undoubtedly.

Draco flipped a page idly, taking a final bite of the green apple he'd brought with him that morning, and beginning to examine the psychiatric review made on Potter when he'd first become an Auror.

Ah, at last, something interesting. He scanned the page, taking in bits of information he'd always known or at least suspected. _Lost parents at an early age... _– as if that wasn't common knowledge – _...legal guardians known to be neglectful... _– Really? Well they _were _muggles – _undergone numerous childhood traumas... – _Draco snorted. Understatement much?

But in all seriousness, he'd known candidates for the training program to be rejected on any _one _of those grounds. It said something for the power of Potter's fame that he'd still shot to the height of his career, and at such a relatively young age of twenty three, with those things working against him. It was unfair, he supposed, that kind of favouritism, but hardly unexpected.

So, what was he working with? A man who was no doubt used to having his slightest whims obeyed, his failings ignored; used to gliding by on his reputation. Draco wondered if Potter had ever had anyone say 'no' to him.

And yet, none of that added up to the outburst Granger had described. Imagine, the hailed hero responsible for destruction enough to warrant mass Obliviation. He'd certainly have to request details on _that_, if only to satisfy his own morbid curiosity.

But... why? What the hell was going on in the life of the Man Who Lived that would cause his best friend to force him into therapy and Healing?!

Draco found his mind spinning as he jumped from theory to theory, the ideas whirling in his head. He'd come to recognise this state of mind. It was the only time during a case he could afford detachment; before he'd ever met a patient and been forced to understand them. Of course, with Potter, it was slightly different, as he'd known him since they were boys, and was quietly confident he already understood his motivations, at least to some extent. But still, for the moment he felt free to hypothesise, silently questioning and wondering.

At the very least, even if this turned out to be nothing more than a spoiled celebrity throwing a tantrum, Draco saw in it the opportunity to hold power over the man who, before now, had always bested him, always infuriated him, and – worse than anything else – been the only person to see him for what he truly was: weak. And as a result, he'd always overlooked Draco, his sights set on bigger and better things than one failed Slytherin.

But now, Draco would _make _Potter acknowledge him. Because now, _he _was the one with the authority, the ability to make or break the famous Saviour. One bad report from him and Potter was going down, and there was nothing he could do about it. Granger, irony of ironies, had made sure of that...

Smiling – a smile that was cold and sharp and not at all pleasant – the blonde closed Potter's file and sat back in his chair.

Yes, this would be good...

--

When Tuesday came, Draco gathered his files and Flooed to the Ministry. He no longer had to use the visitors' entrance, granted special access by his position as Mind-Healer. Often here to deal with the legal aspects of his cases, and even to visit the occasional patient who worked here, he was by now a familiar sight to the Aurors and Ministry officials. Notorious for a number of reasons – among them his resemblance to the late Lucius Malfoy in everything from looks to snide, superior attitude, despite the hard times he was known to have experienced over the years – Draco was no better liked here than he was at St Mungo's. His unpopularity didn't bother him, though, because he knew it for what it was. They feared him, after seeing him drag himself from rock bottom to a position of such power once again. The Ministry had already tried and failed to destroy him. Instead of turning him into the penniless wreck Scrimgoer had originally intended, they'd taken their eye off the ball – as Draco liked to think, after hearing the quaint muggle expression somewhere along the way – and allowed him to gain such influence that _he _could now easily turn the tables on _them _if he so wished.

Draco met Granger at the appointed time and place, neither of them arriving late nor early, and they proceeded filling out the paperwork. In Potter's name, she signed over access to his medical and personal files – the ones Draco didn't yet possess, anyway – and with her present to validate that he did indeed have a reason for requesting the details of Potter's last disastrous Auror mission, the Slytherin found himself almost gleeful to get his hands on every dirty little secret that had ever been hidden away from the public eye. Maybe now he could finally make some progress in understanding the mind of Saint Potter.

"You could at least _pretend _you're not enjoying this, you know."

Granger's whiny criticism disturbed his blissful reading as he pored over the writing in front of him, the manila file resting in his lap where he'd sat down at the first available row of chairs that lined the corridor wall. He glanced at her reproachfully. "I resent that. I'm a professional, as you might recall. A dedicated _Healer_. Forgive me if my fervent wish to end a man's suffering –"

"Bollocks," the witch cut across him bluntly, her arms folded as she glared down at him.

A slight smirk slowly tipped his mouth. "Too much?"

"Just a bit," she agreed sarcastically. "Please tell me I'm not making a mistake with this, Malfoy. If you're just going to treat this as an opportunity to screw Harry over –"

"And ruin my reputation?" He snorted. "Potter's not worth it. Oh, don't get me wrong," he corrected, seeing her expression. "If he makes a full recovery – all due to my hard work, of course – he'll do _wonders _for me. I can see the headlines now. I'll be in higher demand than _ever_– My point being, why would I 'screw him over', as you delicately phrase it, when I need him safe and sane so he can sing my praises to the wizarding world...?"

She smiled, and it was a sharp, cold gesture. "I'm glad I can rely on your ambition, if not any recognisable set of morals."

He inclined his head. "Morality is relative. Ambition rarely falters, Granger. You should be relieved. At least I'm consistent."

"But not trustworthy."

He raised an eyebrow at her, amused. How Gryffindor-like, to equate consistency with trust. Closing the file in his hands, he rose to his feet, making her retreat a few steps. "As much as I'm beginning to enjoy this play of words – and Salazar save me for admitting that – I do have work to do. We'll continue this tomorrow. Perhaps Potter might even like to participate..."

Her expression flickered. "I may not be an expert, Malfoy, but I'd warn you not to antagonise Harry."

He blinked languidly. "And why's that?"

"...You'll know, soon enough."

--

Reading over the step by step testimony of Potter's Auror partner, Draco could picture in his mind's eye everything that had happened. It went pretty much as Granger had first said, though she'd missed a few important details. Like, oh, the fact that Potter had _used an Unforgivable_!

Draco had almost choked on thin air when he'd read that. He'd stared at the page for long moments as his image of the Man Who Lived cracked and shattered.

Cruciatus. Potter had cast Cruciatus at the petty criminal he'd been chasing. He'd missed, thankfully, as his partner had shoved him aside once he'd realised Potter was apparently _unhinged_, but that didn't stop the Saviour of their time from being _up on charges _himself. Draco couldn't believe it. Nothing about this made sense.

The details after that didn't make sense, either. They were unclear, at best, giving only the vague description of Potter losing his temper and casting a series of destructive spells that had done serious damage to the muggle property in the area. The specific incantations weren't mentioned at all. There had also been muggle witnesses, which he recalled Granger had told him, resulting in the Minister authorising one of the few mass Obliviations performed in the last couple of decades.

Draco sat back and shook his head. Well this... this was certainly _interesting_.

This would be the case of his career. His defining moment. Not only was Potter _the _high-profile patient that any Healer could wish to treat, his case was actually fascinating, from the little Draco already knew of it.

How ironic, he thought to himself, that he was actually beginning to think of the git as a catch.

--

Wednesday finally arrived and Draco entered St Mungo's with a sense of anticipation that he hadn't experienced in longer than he could remember. Passing the young secretary's desk, he tapped his fingers impatiently in front of her and instructed briskly, "When Ms Gr–Weasley and Mr Potter get here, allow them in. No one else."

"Yes sir – What?!"

He smiled as he walked away, not bothering to glance back or explain. Yes, Potter's presence would certainly cause a stir here, just as he'd expected. Lucky that he'd sworn her to silence about his private business when she'd first started working for him. Not that he trusted the nervous, stammering promise she'd made to him, but magic ensured she kept her word.

He'd cancelled other patients for the day. He didn't think he'd be able to concentrate on their problems and issues even if he tried. Anticipation hummed through him. Distantly, he knew it was hardly an attractive quality in himself that he grew _this _excited at the prospect of seeing his childhood rival brought low by whatever deficiency was plaguing him, but really... he didn't care. Malicious he might be, but at least he made no attempt to deny it. And _something _had to be said for the virtue of honesty, didn't it...?

Well, maybe not. But still.

Draco's impatience gnawed at him until three o' clock _finally _rolled round. He almost expected the Gryffindors to be late, purely to try his tolerance, but no sooner had he thought this, there came a knock at the door. The secretary popped her head around and announced the arrivals of Mr Potter and Mrs Weasley.

Granger came first, dressed in formal robes and looking as if she'd come straight from work. Trailing reluctantly several steps behind her came the Golden Boy himself...

When Potter strode into his office, Draco took the measure of him in seconds. He'd obviously grown into his lean figure since the days of Hogwarts. Rather than describe him as 'gangly' – as he had done so many times in the past – Draco would now have said 'lithe'. He was slim and tall, but possessed the wiry muscles of a trained Auror. Nor did he move with the same adolescent awkwardness that had always stuck in Draco's mind, but was now self-assured and confidant in his actions – so much so that it unsettled the Slytherin to some small degree. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and switched his attention to Potter's face.

Even that was strangely altered. Gone were the trademark glasses of old. The gaudy, tacky frames had been replaced by an elegant little pair of lenses which had surely been picked out by Granger or girl Weasley. A casual fringe concealed the legendary scar. Draco's eyes naturally fixed on the spot where he knew it to be, and he noticed that Potter's hand suddenly moved as if to reach up and check the fringe was in place. He quickly halted the action, however, though not before the Slytherin had mentally noted the involuntary movement. He smirked, and Potter's green eyes flashed.

Well. At least some things never changed.

Draco rose to his feet, easily falling into his act of formality. He leaned across his desk and held out his hand first to Granger – who touched him only hesitantly, as if the action unnerved her deeply – and then to Potter. He was momentarily stunned when the suspended Auror took his hand unflinchingly, without so much as turning a hair. Draco stared hard at him, almost wanting the other man to revert to the angry teenager he'd once been. The Slytherin had half expected it from him, in all honesty. He'd been almost sure that Potter would have glared at his offered hand and turn sulkily away. The fact that he hadn't did not fit with the mental profile Draco had already assimilated.

He looked questioningly at Granger, but she only shrugged helplessly.

Draco sat down slowly, busying himself for a moment with smoothing down his robes, already annoyed that Potter had somehow managed to ruffle his feathers and the man was barely in the door.

"Have a seat," he said absently, giving a distracted gesture towards the waiting chairs as he shuffled through the open folders spread out before him. "I've been looking through these reports –"

He was interrupted abruptly. Potter suddenly sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. Draco's gaze snapped towards him at the movement, and his eyebrows rose as he realised the Auror was attempting to look... pleasant. Friendly, even.

"Look," the Gryffindor began agreeably. "There's been a mistake, Malfoy. Hermione's just overreacted. I told her that we'd just be wasting your time and costing me a fortune in the process, but..." He shrugged, and flashed a vaguely sheepish smile.

Draco tensed. He knew well enough when someone was trying to charm their way around him – and he had to admit, Potter was pretty damn good at it. Better than the Slytherin would have given him credit for. He was putting the good looks he'd developed to good use, wearing a smile that looked like it had been practiced in the mirror (something Draco knew a lot about) and flashing his expressive green eyes over the top of his glasses.

Draco looked away, instead pinning Granger with a flat stare. She looked tired and annoyed and entirely unsurprised. Shaking her head, she cast him what could only be an apologetic look.

The Slytherin sighed, anticipating the coming struggle. He returned his attention to his patient, and spoke as calmly as possible, not allowing any of his personal feelings to creep into his voice. "Mr Potter, I fail to see how Mrs Weasley could have... 'overreacted' to your unjustified use of the Cruciatus curse. I might point out that Cruciatus is an Unforgivable that would have landed anyone else in Azkaban."

The Gryffindor's expression didn't so much as flicker. "I'm already meeting the requirements of my suspension – as I'm sure you know." Here, he cast a fleeting look at Granger, and Draco didn't miss the slight resentment in his glance. "I'm taking two months off work. I'm getting therapy."

"Yet you object to my brand of Healing?" the Slytherin inquired, aware of the fact that they were both speaking with perfect and oh so phony politeness. "Or do you just object to me, Mr Potter?"

Ah, _there _was the hesitation he'd been looking for. The Auror sat back in his chair, frowning. It was the first crack to appear in his mask, and Draco did not miss its significance.

"I assure you, I'll be nothing but professional," he promised confidently, knowing he had to put on a show for Granger if she was going to agree to this against her best friend's wishes. He leaned forward, laying his hands on the desk in an unthreatening gesture, and spoke directly to the Gryffindor in an almost confidential tone of voice. "Look, Potter... All personal history aside, this is my _job_, and I'm good at it. I can help you."

"I don't need –"

"I think twice a week sessions should be adequate to begin with. Gra– Mrs Weasley?"

Potter turned on her, his eyes hard and clearly imploring her to call the whole thing off. She bit her lip and looked at Draco, who in turn tried to appear as innocent as he could pull off. He rarely succeeded in such an act, but this time at least it seemed to work well enough to sway Granger.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry Harry, but I think it's for the best. Is there anything else I need to sign?"

Draco repressed his victorious smile, and for the moment stayed to his word about being professional, promptly making arrangements for Potter's next appointments and calmly tolerating the green eyed glare that was positively _burning _into him.

He could afford to tolerate Potter now. The man's entire future, after all, was held snugly in the palm of his hand...


End file.
